“How did you find out she was pregnant?” Yanagisawa said, startled.
“Lady Reiko told me.”
“You spoke with Sano’s wife? I told you to stay away from everyone associated with Sano.”
“I went to see her,” Lady Someko said, brazenly proud of her disobedience. “Because nobody else will tell me anything.”
Yanagisawa dragged his bleeding hand down his face. This woman would be the death of him. “What else did Lady Reiko say?”
“She asked if Yoshisato knew Tsuruhime was pregnant. She tried to make me say he killed Tsuruhime. But I know he didn’t. He would never kill anybody.” Lady Someko’s hoarse voice was replete with conviction. “Unlike you.” She jabbed her sharp fingernail at Yanagisawa. “I know you knew she was pregnant.”
“You don’t know any such thing,” Yanagisawa said, urgent with his need to convince her. “Because I didn’t know until Sano told me yesterday.”
“I don’t believe you. You must have known. Because you have a spy in Lord Tsunanori’s estate. It’s the housekeeper. You were paying her to tell you if Tsuruhime missed any monthly courses.”
Yanagisawa deduced how Lady Someko had learned of his spy. His chief retainer served as liaison between him and the housekeeper, whom he’d never met. Lady Someko must have coaxed the man into telling tales. Yanagisawa was dismayed that she knew. The information was useless to Sano, but it could still be lethal in the hands of Yanagisawa’s other enemies. Ienobu could use it as evidence that Yanagisawa must have known Tsuruhime was pregnant and therefore must have had her killed.
Lady Someko began laughing hysterically. “You went to all the trouble of murdering the shogun’s daughter. And now, with Yoshisato dead, a lot of good it did you!”
29
“The Shogun’s son has been murdered!”
The words, shouted outside his window, awakened Hirata. He sat up on the bed in his room at the inn. Alarm cleared the fog of sleep from his mind. He threw on his robe and ran barefoot into the rainy street. The news-seller was standing under the eaves of a teahouse across from the inn. Hirata gave him a coin, snatched a broadsheet, and anxiously read the story. It said Yoshisato had died in a fire at Edo Castle, and Sano was under arrest for arson.
Hirata was horrified yet elated. Yoshisato’s murder changed everything. Hirata ran to his room and unpacked a silk kimono, surcoat, and trousers. They were wrinkled, but he put them on; then he looked in the mirror. A face with long, shaggy hair and patchy whiskers gazed back at him. He couldn’t go to Edo Castle looking like a bum. He hung his swords at his waist, donned a wicker hat and straw rain cape, and went to a nearby barbershop.
The barber shaved his face and crown, oiled his hair, tied it into a neat topknot, trimmed the end, then held up a mirror for Hirata. Hirata’s skin was brown where the sun had tanned it, pale where hair had covered his scalp and face. His cheekbones were sharper. New wrinkles bracketed his mouth. His eyes had a hunted, haunted expression. Hirata winced. He paid the barber, ran outside, mounted his horse, and galloped through the rain to Edo Castle.
He had a new chance to help Sano and win his forgiveness.
* * *
Sano lay in bed. The cold, damp poultices weighed upon his closed eyelids. His face throbbed. The skin was numb where Reiko had applied balm, sore underneath. The bruises on his body ached. His mind roiled with guilt caused by his disgraceful thoughts about the shogun, fear that he was in trouble he couldn’t get out of, and the anguish of knowing that his family was in it with him.
Rain clattered on the roof. Reiko moved about the chamber. Garments rustled as she dressed. Sano said, “Where are you going?”
“To find out who killed Yoshisato. What are you going to do while I’m gone?”
“I don’t know.” Sano felt too inert to take any action.
“Well, I’ll tell you. Stop wallowing in misery and save yourself!”
Reiko had never spoken to him so harshly. Sano involuntarily turned toward her. The poultices fell off his eyes. The swelling had gone down; he could see Reiko kneeling by the bed.
“Please,” she said, distraught. “Masahiro and I can’t do it alone. We need you.”
Sano felt even guiltier for letting his emotions paralyze him, leaving his wife and son to struggle on their own. He sat up. It took a gigantic effort. “You’re right. I’m being unfair to you.” His cut lips felt thick and sore.
Reiko smiled tremulously. Sano had to look away from her. Something else besides his samurai discipline, his sense of honor, and his loyalty to the shogun had broken. It was his faith that his actions mattered. He couldn’t believe that investigating Yoshisato’s murder would do any good. He tried to remember that he’d solved difficult cases and gotten himself out of jeopardy many times, but he couldn’t help thinking his luck had finally run out.
He’d also lost his faith that the universe favored those who tried to do right over those who deliberately, blatantly did wrong.
“What are you going to do?” Reiko’s tone anticipated a better answer than before.
Sano couldn’t tell her how he felt. She was depending on him. His mind groped for some source of strength or guidance, like a lame, blind man gropes for a cane. He found it in a memory from his childhood.
He’d been seven or eight years old. He and his parents had been walking to a funeral. Sano had hated funerals. The people crying made him sad, the smell of cremation made him sick, and all the praying didn’t bring back the dead. He’d told this to his parents. His father had said, “The ancients said that a journey is hardest when it’s to somewhere you have to go and you don’t want to because you doubt that it’s worthwhile. But you must put your doubts aside, set your course, and follow it by putting one foot in front of the other until you get there.”
Sano didn’t know if the ancients had ever said that. His father had often put his own words in their mouths. But the advice suited this occasion. Sano would put his doubts aside and focus on solving Yoshisato’s murder. He would take one step after another, and maybe the results would be worthwhile.
“I’ll invite my new favorite suspect over to talk about Yoshisato’s murder.” To assure Reiko that he was all right, Sano added with forced humor, “Maybe my face will scare him into confessing.”
* * *
The rain had lessened by the time Hirata dismounted outside Sano’s estate. Cool mist hung in the air. The sky brightened to a murky silver, but thunder rumbled. A Tokugawa army soldier was guarding the gate. “What do you want?”
“To see Sano-san,” Hirata said.
The soldier obviously recognized Hirata and knew his reputation as a great fighter; he understood that trying to keep Hirata out would be as dangerous as letting him in. “All right. Just behave yourself.”
Walking toward the mansion, Hirata looked around furtively. He longed to see his wife and children, but he was nervous about how they would react. He didn’t want to run into Sano’s other retainers. His heart pounded as soldiers guarding Sano let him in the door. In the private chambers he came upon Sano and Detective Marume. Sano’s face was cut and bandaged, the skin around his swollen eyes turning purple. He handed Marume a scroll container and said, “See that it gets into his hands.”
“I’m on my way.” Marume scowled at Hirata. “What are you doing here?”
Sano’s aura was even more disturbingly changed than his appearance. Once it had pulsed with a strong, steady glow and rhythm. Now the glow was veined with darkness that bled out of him. Appalled, Hirata said, “What happened to you?”
“None of your business,” Marume said.